


Non Sequitur

by knockplease



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 17,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockplease/pseuds/knockplease
Summary: An ongoing series of Tallest-centric drabbles.





	1. Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a collection of completely unrelated drabbles. They're mostly very short and mostly Red/Purple slash.
> 
> As always, feedback and critique are welcome!

**Give**

Something had to give. There were no more tears to shed. They had long since run out of obscenities to shout, fingers to point, blame to shift, and verbal ammunition. The passion that fueled the grudges and resentment between them had gone cold and expired. Whatever love they had died a long time ago, they simply refused to acknowledge it. They had gone through the empty motions day after day, maintained the futile lovemaking that left them numb at best, hoping that maybe the friction of bodies would re-light the spark that had been lost. In the end, it only served as a reminder of how empty and hollow they had become. In the dark, silent moments of the after when they lay turned away from each other with a universe between them, they shared a sickness acute in the pit of the stomach and uniform feeling of dread never spoken of, but the silence acknowledged that they both understood exactly what it implied. They were vessels for needs that had died with their desire for each other.

There was nothing left. It had been coming for a long time but that did not make it any easier as they stood with sore, swollen eyes in the agony of each other's silence.

"You don't love me anymore." It wasn't a question.

Eyes failed to meet. "No." Hesitant, reluctant, resigned, and pained. "You don't love me, either."

Something had to give. Maybe this was it.

 

 


	2. Futile

**Futile**

They wanted to know if there was anything that they could get for him. Names and faces he didn't know and had never met offered their deepest sympathies and most heartfelt regrets in regard to his loss. _"He was so young"_ and _"it's such a tragedy",_ but he noticed that there one condolence in particular that came out of everyone's mouth.

" _Is there anything I can do for you?"_

He smiled painfully each time and expressed his thanks because if he took his mind off autopilot, even for a second, Red was sure he'd lose his composure entirely. Everyone kept asking the same goddamn question, in spite of how futile it was.

" _Is there anything I can do for you?"_

' _Yeah.'_ Red thought, _'I want my fucking lover back.'_

 

 


	3. Broken

**Broken**

"Don't lie to me. You hardly even _look_ at me anymore, Red." He said in a frustrated voice. He sighed and exhaled the anger from tone and in its place was only resignation, "…When are you going to forgive yourself?"

"Please, Pur, don't do this… I can't, not now. I just don't want to talk about it."

"You're crying."

Red cried harder in response. Purple draped an arm across his shoulders and pulled him close. The red-eyed Irken instinctively shrank away, "Don't, you'll hurt yourself."

"How long, Baby? How long are you going to do this?" Purple sighed. "How long are you going to treat me like I'm broken?"

"I should have protected you, but I fucked up and you paid for it. You didn't _just_ get hurt. It's…" he cringed, "permanent."

"I'm not made of glass. I'm blind, Red. That's all." He said, kissing the other Irken's forehead.


	4. Soft

  **Soft**

Everything about him is so _loud_.

His voice when he speaks, the pitch of his laughter, the volume at which he _insists_ anything and everything that emits sound should be set to.

_"Turn it up to eleven"_ is an understatement.

Red wonders sometimes, when he hears his co-leader from two rooms over shouting at a service drone that somehow invoked his wrath, how someone so loud can be so _soft_.


	5. Insatiable

**Insatiable**

He doesn't need the bedroom light to know he's being watched. He can feel himself slowly undressed by crimson eyes, burning underneath the insatiable fire he's seen in them so many times. He idly wonders if he ever conveys a similar expression when the roles reverse and he's the one who wanders into the other's quarters when the world is sound asleep. He doesn't feel the mattress shift before delicate claws lightly scrape over the edge of his robe that only falls to mid-thigh. He feels the edge of the thin fabric sliding upward and the short, quiet gasp he emits can't be helped. The first sound the other has made all night is a deep chuckle, and he leans in close against the side of his head.

Fingers run over the expanse of his now entirely-exposed thigh and he presses himself flush against the other's back. "Mm… you like that, don't you?"

He knows what his answer ought to be, but all he can do is moan. The knot around his waist is pulled loose and he feels the other's hand slip underneath the useless scrap of clothing. He flinches when that hand moves over his stomach and carefully each outlines individual abdominal muscle. He feels lips against his neck, teeth lightly grazing over sensitive patches of skin, licking and nibbling at random intervals.

"It's so cute when you try to hold out." The other murmurs against the side of his head. He unexpectedly licks the antenna closest to him, earning a loud, high-pitched gasp. With a toothy grin that he can practically _hear_ , the other speaks, "But I know what you want." He sucks teasingly on the appendage, and they both know it's the truth.

"Ngh… Red, oh, fuck…"

"Mmm… 'Oh fuck' indeed."

Red doesn't have time to feel the mattress shift when the other quickly rolls onto his back, desperately pulling the other on top of him, shoving at his robe and pulling the tie loose, all too eager to touch the skin underneath.

"Just tonight," He always whispers, "one more time."

Red always nods, knowing that's the way it should be.

He also knows tomorrow night, he'll wake to feel Purple's hungry, ardent stare fixed on him, like a lion going after a lamb.

The scars on their backs from clawing too hard, little half-moons dug into their shoulders from pressing too deep, teeth marks everywhere from biting too sharply…

He watches Purple's face, flushed with heat mounting pleasure, feels his partner bringing him closer to release, and he knows they'll never stop until they're both satisfied. He thrusts deeper with a short grunt as Purple throws his head back, crying out in loud, incoherent ecstasy. He arches his back and begs beneath him, and Red knows the truth.

Neither of them are lambs.

They'll _never_ be satisfied.


	6. Crash

**Crash**

The ship lurched forward and shuddered violently. The sheer force of the blast the vessel had sustained propelled him across the flight deck until the back of his neck slammed into the solid metal wall. His head followed suit as the next part of him to make acquaintance with the surface and his vision went black for a moment. He registered the sensation of his other extremities finally colliding with the inner wall of the ship before he felt its artificial gravity kicked in and he found himself on the floor.

He blinked his eyes until things were only marginally blurry and in the back of his mind somewhere, he idly suspected he'd sustained a concussion. He gingerly rubbed behind his neck where he'd initially connected with the wall and tried to establish coherent thought. He could hear the whirr of the engines slowing down, and he dimly registered the alarms that were doing nothing to ease the throbbing in his head.

Alarms. That meant the automatic emergency evacuation procedure had been activated.

"Sir! Sir, you've got to come with me!" A large guard shouted, and Purple distantly registered that he was being urged to stand up, but he was rather partial to the position he was currently in.

"…'dun wanna" the violet-eyed Tallest slurred, trying to shake free of the guard, "just let me sleep…"

"We've lost the engines, Sir! They're targeting our stabilizers! We're still within the atmosphere, and we won't survive if She goes into free-fall! We can't lose _both_ our leaders, Sir, we _need_ you!"

"But… I …" Purple rubbed the back of his head and cringed when he saw the blood on his hand. His right brain screamed for his left to understand, to process what it was trying to tell him but it was too slow to make the proper connection. He continued to stare for a solid minute before everything finally clicked.

"Red!" Purple lunged at the guard, accomplishing more of a 'flop' instead, and grabbed his shirt, "Where is he? What's happened?"

"Sir, you're hurt, it's my duty to see that you get on board your escape vessel,"

Purple caught sight of a lifeless soldier sprawled out on the floor to his left. Purple grabbed the gun out of the dead Irken's belt and trained it on the guard's head. "I'll ask you once more and if I don't get an answer, I won't hesitate so I suggest you make yourself useful and _tell me where he is_!"

The ship rocked and they both staggered, but Purple's aim never wavered. The guard lowered his weapon and sighed. "He's over there," he said, nodding to Purple's right, "I'm sorry, Sir, but… he's gone. There was nothing we could do for him, you have to get to safety!"

"What do you mean _nothing we can do_?!" Shouted the violet-eyed Tallest, scrambling to his feet. "There's always _something_!"

"Sir, please, I think it would be better if you,"

" _Red!?_ "

"… didn't." The guard finished to himself, hanging his head.

"Oh Red… please," Purple fell to his knees, unaware of his sobbing, he tried to hold the body of his lifeless co-leader, and recoiled sharply at the slick, wet sensation staining his fingers after touching a hand to the back of the other's head.

"Sir, I beg you, please don't look." The guard pleaded.

Purple didn't _have_ _to_ look. He had finally taken notice of the enormous pool of blood surrounding his friend, the same pool of blood he only now realized he was kneeling in. He could follow the short smear on the floor that led up the metal wall and finally ended at a protruding pole, dislodged sometime during the attack. "Oh Red…" He choked, reaching out to stoke the cold, lifeless cheek of his partner before he was consumed by another fit of sobs.

"Sir, we have to go! We _can't_ wait any longer!"

"So go then." He said without the slightest inflection in his voice.

"It's my job to,"

"He's dead." Purple said plainly, "I can't rule without him and I'll stand trial if I try to step down from power. If that happens, I'll be deactivated. I'm dead either way. The least you can do, Soldier, is follow orders and abide my decision."

The guard seemed uneasy and conflicted, and startled when the Final Evacuation Alarms sounded.

"Go. Please."

Against all reason and protocol, the guard found himself nodding and quickly running to the nearest escape pod.

"So much for that plan, huh?" Purple said, addressing the form of his co-Tallest with pained laughter, "I told you it would be a bad idea to go after the resistance directly. Stubborn, you are. Always so stubborn."

The lights surged and flickered and somewhere in the distance, Purple heard an explosion, but none of mattered. He lay on the floor with his head on the other's chest, careful not to disturb Red as he drew himself closer. The lights went out and the cacophony of alarms and explosions went silent as tears streamed down the Irken's face.

"Do you remember when we were little? When I was afraid of the dark and it kept you up at night because I couldn't turn the lights out? You said that you'd prove there was nothing to be afraid of, so you shared your bed with me. We were just kids then. I used to count your heartbeats. Something about that rhythm and your breathing…" Purple closed his eyes, "But I don't feel it anymore. I keep waiting, I keep thinking I _almost_ hear it but it's not there." He said, his voice shaking, "It's never coming back."

Purple sighed and his empty, leaking eyes stared straight ahead, at nothing. "Remember how you used to hum that sound for me back then? It wasn't a song, just a sound… but you never made it for anyone but me."

There was a barrage of attacks to the right rear stabilizer and he felt the ship threatening to fall.

"…I can't remember it, Love. I can't remember the sound that you found for me."

Another blast to the right side. Missed the target but the ship thrashed in response.

"It's been a long time since I've been alone in the dark. You know what, Red?" He asked, "I'm still afraid. I'm so afraid and I can't remember that sound."

The Massive shuddered in response to the fragile and failing stabilizer.

He listened for a heartbeat that wasn't there, anticipating the rise of a chest that wasn't taking in air while he his mind was filled with numb silence and white noise, and he winced painfully, "Wherever you are, I'll be there soon."

A critical hit to the Massive's only remaining stabilizer sent the ship plummeting out of the planet's atmosphere, crashing into the surface.


	7. Burn

**Burn**

There was universal sentiment that explicitly urged against playing with fire. Without ever touching it, the heat _alone_ could kill or cripple. No matter how much one could withstand, it was impossible to endure direct or prolonged exposure and survive. He knew this well. He knew, and yet, he'd always wondered what the flames would feel like against his skin.

Curiosity, like fire, was also a dangerous thing. It was to be exercised with temperance and rationality. Even the most innocent of curiosities could easily give way to obsession. There was no way to tell when a curiosity became a compulsion. It was a process that went unrealized until it was far too late. Until one had become so fixated, so _fascinated_ by something, it consumed every waking moment of their existence. The danger of pursuing curiosity was in how far one might go to satisfy it.

Purple knew this, and yet, it did nothing to deter him. He was too curious to back away. He knows he can't resist the strange temptation to abandon all evolution has taught him and stand at the brink of flames and cross the threshold. When Red steps into Purple's visual space, he stirs up the overwhelming compulsion and Purple thinks about fire.

Everyone says it's a bad idea. That he's just a tease who loves whatever attention he can get. They say he's going to string Purple along until it's _just_ enough to break his heart. He knows full well of Red's reputation, but when Red notices him and walks over, he forgets it again.

He knows that one day, he's going to step over the edge and throw himself into the fire without hesitation. He's going to let it consume him completely because one day, the heat won't be enough. He knows he's gotten himself into a dangerous situation. The urge to disregard all inhibitions and once and for all satiate his curiosity is far too strong for him to be concerned with caution. He can feel in his blood that he's aching to set himself on fire, to feel the lick of flames against his bare skin.

Purple takes a long look at Red, and he knows he wants to burn.


	8. Dance

**Dance**

"Dance with me." He said in a happy voice, extending his hand with a grin.

Red rolled his eyes, "Been drinking a _little_ too much of the punch, haven't you, Pur?"

The Irken giggled quietly with an expression that made Red shake his head with a resigned smile, "Please, Red?"

"Come on, Pur, you know I hate this kind of thing. _You_ hate this kind of thing!"

"Ever wonder why we keep going to 'em, then?" He asked, hazy from the alcohol. He wasn't close to drunk, only perhaps riding a mild buzz... but there was something fundamentally different about him tonight.

Red looked surprised and mildly confused. "No, I guess it hasn't crossed my mind."

"You've never danced before, have you?" Purple asked with a somewhat wry, but gentle smile.

"Dancing is stupid. And since _when_ do _you_ dance?" He cocked an absent eyebrow in curiosity, "More importantly, _why_?"

"Because," Purple answered, leaning toward his friend, offering his hand once again, "there comes a time when every lonely little boy must learn to dance."

It had to be the way the lights reflected off his friend's eyes that made them so vivid, because they had never hypnotized him like this before. He resolved that it had to be those stupid smoke machines that clouded his judgment, because he'd taken Purple's hand before he'd even realized it.

He glanced from their hands, to Purple, and back to their hands again, uncertain and confused. Purple stood at full height, which motivated Red to get off the ground and follow suit. With Red's hand still in his, they found an unoccupied, inconspicuous section of the dance floor.

Red sighed and rolled his eyes, "I _can't believe_ I'm doing this…." he groaned.

Purple's enthusiasm seemed unaffected, as if the violet-eyed Irken were off in another universe entirely, as he settled one hand on Red's waist without letting go of the one already in his grip.

"Are you kidding, Pur? You've got to _lead_ , too?"

Purple offered another enigmatic grin that somehow softened Red. "Someone has to start. I thought we could switch off once you got comfortable with the steps.

"Whatever, Pur."

The other Irken smiled, "Just trust me."

Red paused for a moment before he nodded, "Okay."

After the first few awkward stumbles, the pair moved with extraordinary grace once they fell into rhythm. Red was shocked at how easy it was to complement Purple's movements. When Purple allowed Red to lead the dance, they fell into a familiar pattern of steps that Red did not stray from as he carefully watched his feet until he felt Purple raise his chin to meet his eyes.

"The rules are only there to get you started. It's not dancing unless you're shaping and bending and testing them to create something _new_."

"I have no idea what I'm doing, Pur. I shouldn't lead. What if I screw it up?"

"Then we'll learn from it, and pick up from where we went wrong."

"…Are we still taking about dancing?"

"Why?" Purple smiled, "You think I'm madly in love with you, and all of this is just a metaphor?"

Red's blindsided expression made Purple giggle to himself. "…Um… yeah, I guess…" he responded nervously, "is it?"

"It's just a dance." Purple smiled. _"And a dance is just a metaphor."_ He thought.

* * *

 **A/N:**  " _There comes a time when every lonely little boy must learn to dance_ " is straight from the Doctor Who episode, _The Girl in the Fireplace_. I've always loved that line, and wanted to use it.


	9. Liar

**Liar**

Red just sat alone in silence and wondered when it started. He should have noticed, in retrospect, how completely how completely obvious it was. Maybe because the process had been so gradual, the changes were too subtle to notice.

He wanted to know why Purple had lied to him. After so many years of faithfulness and devotion, hadn't Red at least earned _that_ much? The truth would have torn into him like shrapnel but he would have been able to come to terms with it. He would not by any means have liked it, but he would have accepted that it was something beyond his control. He loved Purple enough to understand that the universe did not conform to any one person's plans, and he would not have done anything to make the other feel guilty or upset if Purple had just _said something_.

He felt cruel, now, for having missed the signs. Red had only grown to love Purple deeper and more passionately while Purple's interest and desire only waned. He pretended, though, and Red wanted to know why. If he hadn't wanted to be touched, or if making love had become too much of an effort, Red would have listened. He would have done anything his former lover had asked him, and if Purple needed him to let go, he would have.

He would have liked a chance to say goodbye, maybe even one last "I love you", but only as a statement of fact – not a desperate plea to make him stay. If he'd only been honest, Purple wouldn't have suffered alone, in silence, while Red just served as a constant reminder of his terrible circumstances.

Red might not have been able to change the inevitable, but he could have made it more bearable. He wouldn't have argued so much when Purple tried to suggest that they take some time off, to put Impending Doom on hold for a little while, and maybe take the year to see all those things they used to talk about when they were young. If Red had known he'd find Purple choking and writhing in pain on the bedroom floor, he might not have wasted time with arguments.

Purple had kept himself well-medicated and received constant treatment so his condition only manifested in what Red thought were random and sporadic silly little twitches, and not his partner slowly losing control of his central nervous system. Purple would turn it into a joke, or come up with some sort of distraction, and Red would be none the wiser. He'd sworn his doctors to secrecy, and the few times word would go around that he'd been seen in MedLab, he'd always have an excuse.

He wanted to scream at Purple and call him a liar. He wanted to ask, " _how could you do this to me_ ", but he never did because deep down, he knew the answer.

He would have done the same thing.


	10. Name

**Name**

He breathed sharply as hands ran up and down his sides. Thoughts ran through his mind at a thousand miles a minute. He struggled against them, trying instead to focus on participating in the kiss in which he was currently involved, but it was to no avail.

" _Calm the fuck down and stop worrying."_ He told himself, _"It's okay to do this; you've been single for years now, Purple, get a grip."_

Eyes still shut, he felt lips and teeth against his neck. He shuddered and moaned in response. The touches were growing slightly bolder now and he gasped as a hand slid under his shirt. Physical sensations quickly drowned out his racing thoughts. Teeth found a spot on his neck that made him raise his hips and hiss, throwing his head back.

" _Harder_ , right there…"

The hand on his chest slid downward and touched through clothes as he felt a simultaneous sharp bite in the same spot on his neck.

His body responded in the same fashion as it had the previous time with more intensity. "Oh, Red…" he moaned, his voice thick with affection and need.

The weight on top of him disappeared and Purple opened his eyes in confusion, sitting upright on the bed. He felt an acute sense of humiliation and a pit growing deep in his stomach as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself and avoided eye contact with the Irken putting his left boot back on.

"… Would it make a difference if I said I didn't mean it?" He asked as the other began to walk away.

"You meant it, Purple." He replied in a disgusted voice, before offering a contemptuous laugh, "Maybe you didn't want to, but still meant it."

"I wasn't thinking,"

"You shouldn't _have to_." He interjected somewhat angrily. "Don't call me again."

"But,"

"No."

Defeated, Purple silently watched him cross the room toward the door. "I'm sorry…"

"If you were over him, Purple, you'd have at least remembered _my_ name. I meant what I said. Don't call me."

He watched the door open and close, the other Irken disappearing behind it. He stared at the sheets dejectedly. If it hadn't ever happened before, he perhaps would have felt something besides hopeless and completely crushed, but this was not the first time.


	11. Breakable

**Breakable**

He blamed himself.

Red had always seemed so strong, and no amount of adversity had ever for a moment let either of them doubt his capability. Even as the Empire had begun to collapse in on itself, his partner had never wavered. Purple had always admired that resilience but as things slowly began to unravel, admiration turned to envy before either of them had noticed. He hated how un-fucking-breakable Red was, and like a stupid child, he resented it.

Red tried. He had really tried to make it work. Any request, no matter how outlandish or absurd, he always found _some_ way to oblige it and Purple gave him hell no matter what because Red just would not give in.

Purple was still far too numb to accept how breakable Red really was. He had been just as fragile as Purple thought himself to be. He had never known there were so many ways that someone could break.

It was his fault, no matter what they said. Yes, it had been Red's decision in the end, but Purple had been the one who drove him to it.

" _Is there anything I can do that_ won't _make you miserable, Pur?!"_

" _Yeah," he said in an angry voice, "go kill yourself, Red. I fucking hate you."_


	12. Lucky

**Lucky**

"D-do you think it's safe for us here?" He asked in a quiet half-whisper, half-whimper.

A sigh. "I don't think it's safe for us _anywhere_ , anymore, Pur." He replied, closing his tired eyes briefly before turning his attention to the weathered sack sitting a few feet away and pulled from it a can of non-perishable foodstuff. "Aren't you going to eat something?" He asked.

Purple sat down quietly and wrapped his arms around his body, curling into himself and turning his face away. "I'm not hungry."

Red seemed startled. "You're _always_ hungry!" He laughed, pretending to find it humorous.

Purple shot him an angry glance that told him to stop it.

The fake smile left Red's face and he turned his attention back to the aluminum can, extending a Pak leg to open the lid. "You need to eat." He said, retracting the leg and tossing the top aside, "It's been days."

"I don't wanna."

"I don't fucking _care_ if you _want to_ , Purple, just eat some fucking food!" Red snapped.

Purple looked shocked, as if he was still trying to decide how he should react.

The red-eyed Irken sighed heavily and shook his head, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, Pur. I just… I'm just really tired. I'm tired and scared and you're all I've got."

He seemed to internally evaluate Red's response before he slowly and cautiously retrieved a fork from the sack and took a small bite of whatever it was Red had been planning to eat.

Red's exhausted body seemed infinitely more relaxed. "Thank you."

The taste must have reminded Purple's body of how hungry it really was, and only after Red had seen him take several large bites did the other Irken he help himself to some. They tried their best to share these days. It lasted longer this way, which meant fewer trips to the surface, which meant less chance of exposure.

"Hey Red," Purple started, eyes not moving from the somewhat dented can.

"Yeah?" He asked, swallowing whatever wretched canned food item they were sharing. He'd begun to develop a tolerance to the stuff by this point.

"If I get infected, I want you to shoot me."

Red suddenly felt that last bite trying to force it's way back up his throat and the color drained from his face. "Don't talk like that, Pur."

"I'm serious, Red. Don't let me live like that."

"We've been fine for this long. I'm sure we'll build up an immunity to it."

"No one else did."

Red was silent for a moment. "You think we're the only ones left?"

Purple chuckled bitterly, "It won't spread to _Earth_. There's nobody left to carry it _that_ far outside known space. 'Victory for Zim', I guess."

The irony crushed Red to the point of physical pain in his chest.

"We sent him out there to die." Purple continued, "We sent him there to die and all we did was save him."

"… Maybe we could go there, too." Red tried weakly.

Purple almost rebutted with something about the impossibility of finding a spaceship, but after his eyes settled on the other Irken and realized how fragile and worn he was, he swallowed his words and moved close enough to smooth his partner's antennas with a small smile, "Maybe we will."

Red knew that Purple was lying, but he was grateful for the sentiment and the reassuring gesture. "Thank you."

"It's okay."

He sighed. "I think there's an old, abandoned military bunker maybe two days away, southwest of here."

"Is that where we're heading next?"

"We'll stay here another day to rest up before we go."

"…What's the point, Red?"

"I told you," The confused Irken explained, "if we stay too long, they'll be able to track us. If we make it to the bunker, we can stay longer; hell, if there's enough food, we might be able to wait this thing out."

"You really think we can survive this?"

"Of course we can. We've just got to find the right place to settle in. Give it a few years and the surface will be safe enough for us to find a ship to get us to Earth. We'll set up a house and lead fabulously boring domestic lives together. Assuming you still want me by then."

"I _always_ want you, Red."

He smiled, "As soon as we get to the bunker, you can _have me_ all you want."

"Good." Purple replied with an exhausted grin.

"Get some sleep. I'll keep watch. We'll be all right."

"Okay." He kissed Red gently before curling up with his head in the other's lap.

Red offered soft touches to help ease his partner to sleep. He would never admit it out loud, but his plan was merely a mantra. It was a delusion, and he knew it. There was no "safe" anymore. He knew that when they found the bunker he had mentioned it would likely be inhabited with infected. There were a hundred other military members knew of its existence, and they would have thought to go there well before he had. They'd be able to tell for sure once they canvassed the area. If they encountered infected, he'd have to devise a new plan.

Red exhaled heavily. They were lucky to have survived this long.

That depended entirely, of course, on how you interpreted "lucky".


	13. Shower

**Shower**

"Hey, Red, I'm gonna use the shower, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Purple closes the bathroom door, intentionally leaving it ajar though he pretends it was an accident. He turns on the shower and wonders, as he begins to shed his clothes, when this whole thing started. The question he ought to be asking is why he allows it to continue.

He knows that Red is watching him from the other side of the door. His co-leader knows that Purple is aware of his presence but says nothing of it. Neither of them acknowledge this sad, pathetic little voyeuristic ritual they've established. Stepping into the shower, Purple catches Red's reflection in the bathroom mirror, and stares into eyes filled with painful longing and unfulfilled lust. He should be angry. He should be disgusted. He should not run his hand down his chest and over his stomach, moaning with half-lidded eyes. He should not meet Red's hopeless stare of poorly concealed affection and need with a gasp, beginning to satiate his own.

It's wrong.

It's wrong, it's wrong, _this is so wrong_ , but it feels _so good_ and it's the closest they'll get. Behind closed eyes he can pretend the shower steam is Red's breath across his shoulder, that the hands touching him are Red's and not his own. Gasping for breath and keeping himself steady with one palm pressed against the glass, he steals a glance at the mirror and he hates it. They can share the same reflective surface but even there, they never touch. Red is desperate and broken and Purple watches his reflection bite his lip, and for the first time wonders if it's in pain or pleasure. He feels sick and angry and empty and works himself faster and more fervently now, forcing himself toward the release he can't reach. He's so tired and dizzy and he doesn't think he can take any more, but he's not sure if he's referring to the action or the context. He can feel his knees beginning to buckle and nothing is helping as Red watches with a certain degree of concern and Purple whimpers pathetically, his head pressed against the glass as he shakes it in disagreement over and over. His shoulders shake and he can't care anymore; there's nothing left. No pleasure, just agony. An empty sort of agony that makes his entire chest ache. He looks at his pitiful reflection and he wonders how it got to be like this. He finds Red's worried, concerned eyes and his whole body shudders and he can't fight it anymore.

"I love you." He says, "I love you. I love you so much."

His arm is aching and so is his body but he pushes himself harder, sobbing with his forehead to the glass until his knees finally give out. He falls to the slippery shower floor and his left knee lands _hard_ before he slumps completely to his side. He doesn't try to get up. He just curls into himself, too numb to feel humiliated.

He does not hear the shower door open, and hardly registers being maneuvered into a sitting position and pulled close.

"I love you."

He turns his head to the side and sees Red smile. He gasps as a hand begins to touch him with timid carefulness. Purple sighs and relaxes his body, allowing himself to fall completely against Red's chest. "Please, Red…" He whispers desperately.

Red kisses his neck with a subtle bite and Purple moans.

"Tell me this is real."

"It's real, Pur." He whispers, his voice soft.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Purple. I love you so much."

Purple thinks he might cry, but for a completely new reason. His body wants him to close his eyes, but he keeps them trained on the mirror, watching Red touch him, _really_ touch him for the first time. He cries out, urging Red faster. Kissing his neck, Red satisfies the other's physical demands.

Purple makes a high-pitched noise at climax before finally collapsing against Red in relief, breathing heavy and hard, too exhausted to move. Nothing is said, but neither of them leaves, and comfortable silence fills the space between them.

"I can't pretend anymore, Red."

He feels the other sigh. "Me neither."

"So what do we do?"

Red shrugged. "We could sit here for a while."

"And after that?"

Red stared at their reflection with a smile, "We'll take a shower."


	14. Special

**Special**

"It's getting late, Pur. I should probably get going." Red sighed, "I should go." He kissed the other Irken goodnight before making his way toward the door.

"…Wait." Purple began timidly, just as Red was about to exit.

"What is it?"

Purple crossed the room to where Red stood. He looked at him almost shyly but with no reluctance, "You could stay the night. I mean, if you wanted to."

Surprised, Red took a moment to evaluate the other Irken. His face was thoroughly flushed but he smiled in spite of it. The awkwardness between them buzzed with an excited, nervous energy, as if he was holding his breath in anticipation of Red's reply. "You're… you've _really_ thought this through."

Purple nodded.

"A-are you sure you don't want to wait until our anniversary, or one of those mushy holidays?"

The violet-eyed Irken laughed. "I'm sure, Red." He answered, pulling the aforementioned Irken closer, letting his hands settle at his waist.

Red sighed.

"I'm okay if you need more time." He replied, somewhat concerned with the unsettled look on the other's face.

"That's not it. I just… this is gonna sound so stupid," he explained, shaking his head, "I guess I just wanted to make it something special."

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously.

"I don't know," Red tried, growing frustrated, "maybe re-enact some horrible romantic cliché."

Purple laughed, "But that's not _you_ , Red."

"What difference does it make?"

"It makes _all_ the difference."

Red gave him a confused look, "How?"

"I'm in love with _you_. If I wanted a cliché, I'd be dating one. Instead, I'm dating a tall and _very_ handsome young Irken who helps me torment the cafeteria staff. It'll be special no matter _when,_ as long as _you're_ the one I'm with. _You're_ what makes it special for me, Red."

Red smiled before re-locking the door. Purple returned the expression with a grin of his own and kissed him slowly.

"So, bedroom?" Red asked wryly.

Purple laughed playfully, "Race ya."

* * *

**A/N:** OMG FLUFF! Yay! I _finally_ gave these two some happy!


	15. I Know

**I Know**

The Vid had ended a long time ago, but neither of them had acknowledged it. The sudden high-pitched noise from the screen startled them both, and as a consequence, Purple inadvertently bit Red a little harder than he'd intended.

"Shit, Red, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,"

Red just laughed, "If we don't start remembering to turn off the screen, people are gonna think you're abusing me." He joked, "Well, that, or they'll assume I've got some kind of plague."

Purple replied with a satisfied grin, "It's my evil plan to have you all to myself."

"You've _already_ got me all to yourself."

"I know."


	16. Asleep

**Asleep**

He can feel the gentle rise and fall of the chest he's fashioned a makeshift pillow beneath his head, but he's still asleep, so it doesn't matter. The body beside him, the one whose arms hold him in a close, protective embrace is warm and alive as they lay together beneath sheets, bare flesh pressed flush in all it's naiveté and innocence. The ache of muscles never used before lingers, reminding him of their existence. He can feel himself sore in places that ought to conjure shame, but he's still asleep, so it doesn't matter.

It seems odd for such a thing to feel so pure. It's a strange contradiction and he is not quite sure what to make of it, but he's still asleep, so it doesn't matter. There is nothing but warmth and breathing, sheets and skin, and an intimacy he does not think he will ever have words to articulate. He gently nuzzles into the other Irken, as if trying to bury himself inside his chest and live there forever. _"I'm so in love with you"_ he thinks, but he's still asleep, so it doesn't matter.

He knows eventually eyes will open and he'll be forced to accept wakefulness. He'll have to put together awkward sentences to explain away the events of the night before, to cast them as simple mistakes and slips of judgment. He'll swallow every desperate, gasping _"I love you"_ he cried out in the lust and disorient of passion. He'll explain that passion simply as a biological need and nothing more. He'll listen to Red take back every _"I've always loved you"_ and _"I need you"_ and every moan and cry and gasping _"yes"_ until there's nothing for Purple to hold on to. He'll accept the reasoning that it was just a reflex and neither of them meant it, but right now, he's still asleep, so it doesn't matter.


	17. Cartography

**Cartography**

Hands stumble over each other like blind men trying to translate every inch of skin. Mapping the new, uncharted terrain of flesh his hands are the first to discover, he charts the topography of the body beneath him. He feels the smooth, elevated planes and shallow and dips; the curves, some sharp and others rounded, under his palms and commits his observations to memory. He moves slowly, carefully, cautiously… he doesn't know if he will ever be permitted here again and he needs to remember the details.

He controls nearly an entire universe but the only territory he's ever truly felt compelled to conquer is Red. He has, for years, struggled to devise a strategy to shock and awe the other into submission and how funny it is that Red's unprompted offer of surrender should shake Purple to the bone. The momentary disbelief that seized him when the object of his desire laid down for him, uncertain and slightly nervous, was unexpected.

He had always thought that if he ever got the chance, he would make love to Red hard and fast, over and over until Red craved him the way he had always craved Red. He wanted to get in Red's blood, under his skin. He wanted the other Irken to breathe for him, ache for him – he wanted to make Red _need_ him like a drug. Purple did not anticipate that his own shaking, trembling hands would move hesitantly over the body he had wanted to touch, the _only_ body he had _ever_ wanted to touch, with such timid shyness.

So slow, so delicate, so, so careful… he is thorough and detailed in his observations and precise in the calculation of measurements. Plotting the points of intersecting longitude and latitude where Red responds most enthusiastically. He catalogues every fraction of data he collects from the places no one's eyes are privileged, that no one has ever been permitted to touch. Red welcomes him into these places, as if he wants for this, and nothing else. He is soft and unexplored and aching to be discovered. He wants to understand himself. He aches to be understood. Purple learns him for hours, until his hands become expert navigators. Until Red's eyes roll back in his head and he loses coherence, unable to control the shudders and contractions of his body for several long minutes.

He does not know where they will go from here. He does not know what the consequences of the morning light will bring. He does not particularly care. He will worry on tomorrow when it comes and not a moment sooner. He will spend as much time as he is permitted holding Red in his arms, tracing over bones and muscle groups like a game of connect-the-dots in hopes of adding to his map.

"Hey Pur," Red starts, "what are you thinking about?"

Purple sighs, kissing the back of Red's neck, "Cartography."


	18. Morgue

**Morgue**

"…How long has he been in there?"

"Long enough."

"It can't be healthy."

"I heard somebody tried to escort him out, and he threw 'em out the airlock."

"Well, what do you expect?"

"I'm kind of worried."

"So is everyone."

"What if he's really lost it?"

Red heard them talking on the other side of the door, but it only registered it as background noise.

Static.

Cold and uninviting, like the morgue in general.

Like the still body of his co-leader whose icy hand he had yet to release.

 

 

 


	19. Accident

**Accident**

"Hey, Pur?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that… thing we said we wouldn't talk about?"

He didn't meet Red's eyes or turn around to face the other Irken as dread filled him entirely. "Yes."

The red-eyed Irken spoke with hesitation in his voice, "I think I need to talk about it."

"It was just an accident, Red. We were drunk and we weren't thinking." He tried to sound casual, but the words still came out slightly forced.

"There's one thing I don't understand, though."

"What's that?"

"Why do I… if it was," he began awkwardly before collecting himself and establishing eye contact, breathing deeply before he spoke again, "if it was an accident, Pur, then why do I… why do I _still_ want you like that?"

"…I don't know."

Uncomfortable silence stretched on between them for much longer than both of them would have preferred.

Red finally broke it with a sentence he hadn't meant to share, "I don't think it was an accident."

"What?!"

Purple's wide-eyed, shocked expression stared at him in complete and utter disbelief. Red just sighed and focused on his hands. There was nothing left to lose at this point.

"I think I always wanted it to happen. Not necessarily, you know, the way it did, with the alcohol and whatnot… but I think I've always wanted it." He exhaled. "I think I've always wanted _you_."

Purple was silent for a long while, trying to process what Red had just told him, and the impact of what that knowledge implied.

"…Can we still be friends?" Red asked weakly.

Purple finally looked at him with a weary expression, the best he could manage to mask the pain and confusion he honestly felt. "I… I don't think so, Red." He exhaled, his voice shaking.

Red felt as if his heart were being crushed beneath the foot of a Megadoomer. "We can forget all of this." He tired with a degree of desperation the violet-eyed Irken would never have expected.

"I don't think I can do that this time. I don't think I can _ever_ be "just friends" with you."

"Why?"

"…Because I'm not so sure it was an accident on my part, either."


	20. Alive

**Alive**

Lips press tenderly against his and he exhales more stress than he'd been aware of. Red gently steals it away, filling his lungs with nothing but calm and slowly teaches him how to breathe again. Deliberate and cautious, his tongue asks Purple's lips to part. It's a motion so smooth and effortless that it hardly requires permission and yet, he asks anyway. Red's tongue finds his and Purple moans softly as mouth-to-mouth lover's resuscitation begins to take effect. He can feel his heart waking up as his pulse quickens. Red's palm moves to the center of Purple's chest and becomes the defibrillator.

He is careful and attentive as he breathes life back in to Purple. It's a long while before the CPR kicks in, but Red is patient and he does not mind the wait. He is content to lie beside his lover and kiss until Purple can function without life-support.

Red's hands roam no lower than his chest and under no circumstance do they reach for hemlines or buttons or zippers until it is asked of him. Purple is kissing him easier and actively now, and when he bites Red's lip, Red knows that he's fully engaged. He takes hold of Red's hand and slides it beneath the fabric of his shirt, as if to demonstrate how alive he is through the metaphor of his cardiac rhythms.

The red-eyed Irken smiles and his touch is feather-light across Purple's chest. Small caresses become bolder gestures as more skin is slowly revealed. Nakedness has always left Purple feeling awkward; he has never been comfortable with his body and for a while, he was frightened to make love with the lights on. He was an open wound beneath his clothes, and he'd been so scared to let Red see that. Where Purple saw ugly wounds, Red only saw healing scars. He looked at him with a certain admiration Purple couldn't understand every time they made love. Purple had been so worried the first time, but before he could let fear get the better of him, Red had begun to slowly kiss his way across his shoulder and down his chest. He had kissed Purple _everywhere_ that night, with his permission, of course. Perhaps the violet-eyed Irken would always be a little shy about shedding his clothes, but he would never be frightened. Not with Red, at least.

"I didn't think anyone could love me." He says.

"Good thing I proved you wrong." Red responds with a smile before turning serious, "Are you all right? We don't have to go any farther. We can stop here if you want."

Purple looks sad, "Red… do I… does this… are you happy with me?"

" _Of course_ I'm happy with you, Pur – why else would I be here?"

"Maybe you're hoping you can… I don't know, fix me, or something."

"You think _I_ have a savior complex?"

"Well, I'm pretty broken, Red."

He lifts his hand off Purple's stomach to rest on the side of his face, gently turning the Irken's head to prevent Purple from looking away. "You're healing."

"Being with me is like a minefield."

"That's why I let you do the navigating for me."

Purple still does not look completely convinced. Violet eyes try to maintain Red's gaze but they look away, as if full of regret. "…You know it's not ever going to go away."

Red nods, "I've always known that. Doesn't mean it won't get _easier_. It doesn't make you any more difficult to love."

"I just want to give you a normal life, Red."

"There is no 'normal', Pur. There's just life. If you want to know the truth, mine is a whole lot better with you in it."

"Please don't leave me."

Red brushes back his antennas again, "Only if you promise not to leave _me_."

Purple responds pulling Red close, one hand clutching his head and pressing their lips together in a heated kiss. His pulse quickens and the way Red moans into his mouth makes his body hum, sending a rush of heat through his blood. He pulls Red on top of him and Red pauses for a moment, breathing shallow.

Purple can see the genuine adoration in the eyes of the other Irken and tells him in a loving voice, "I need you" before kisses him soft and slow.

Red is the salve on his wounds as their bodies press together. He undresses wounds carefully and cleans out the ugliness, holds Purple in his arms, and covers his body like a bandage.

* * *

**\- Allusions & References -**

The , **"I just want to give you a normal life"** bit is from _Babylon 5_.


	21. Should

**\- Should -**

He ought to feel panic when he opens his eyes. He should be scared, shocked, or at the _very_ _least_ , generally horrified. He should be ashamed of their nakedness and pull the sheets around himself in a cocoon of humiliation and self-loathing, but he prefers to surround Purple with his arms and share the warmth of soft skin beneath the sheets instead.

His body is tired and aches to remind him of what they've done and he's never felt more content. Nothing has ever felt so perfect before. He is certain that nothing has ever been so _right_. He knows it should to feel wrong, but he listens to Purple breathing soft and even, curled up against his side and he's consumed with the urge to kiss sleeping Irken until he breathes nothing but Red. He wants to bite down somewhere (his shoulder, perhaps), and brand Purple as his own. _"I don't ever want to be without you,"_ he thinks, _"let's stay like this forever."_

He should not smile at the memory of what led them here. He should be repulsed and disgusted, but he can only feel happiness. _"I've known you my whole life and I can't believe it took so long to find you,"_ he sighs as he lightly runs his hand across the other Irken's head. He doesn't know what they're going to do, but it doesn't matter. He knows what they _should_ do, but Red knows that "should" is merely a suggestion.


	22. Isolation

**Isolation**

Silent moments spent in a warm embrace, they cuddle together beneath expensive sheets and pretend that there is no outside world.

"I wish we could really be alone together."

Red pulls the covers over their heads and they struggle to suppress the inexplicable fit of childish laughter that seems a universal companion to the action. They laugh and smile and kiss like children, retreating into the innocence of isolation.


	23. Choke

**Choke**

He opens his mouth to speak, and closes it before he articulates the ever-persistent question burning in the back of his throat.

Just another missed opportunity in a sequence of failed attempts and aborted explanations. It's another almost-moment, a not-quite confession. The swing pulled back before breaking the wrist on a pitch in the strike zone.

All he has to do is ask. It's a simple question.

He's dying for an answer because it's killing him a little more each time. The harder he tries, the less air there is to breathe.

He is going to choke to death on words he'll never say.

 

 

 


	24. Waiting

**Waiting**

They stayed up with the night as it approached its darkest hour, sitting on opposite ends of an uneven coffee table they once built together in shop class. Tired eyes fixed on caffeinated cups that had long since gone cold. They hadn't bothered with lights. The sun had been sufficient when they first sat down, but the dim glow of the moon left them with only each other's silhouette.

They want to hide here, in the dark, forever. They never want to see the sun come up. In between half-sighs and shattered glances, they share a desperation that is both dread and relief.

They clutch at these moments of waiting, and they pray that they will never reach what's at the end.

"… _Do you have to go?"_

" _You know it's not a choice."_


	25. Price

**Price**

It's an old saying that "everyone has a price" but he can't seem to find the tag. They say clichés are based in truth, but _everybody_ lies and people are fallible. Therefore, he figures that the more people there are who agree on something, the less likely it is to be true, because what he wants is not for sale. He has enough money and power to buy himself the rest of the universe (the conquest is just for fun. He knows how important it is to Red that they prove they _deserve_ the power, so he goes along with it), but he cannot afford the _one thing_ he desires most of all. Affection cannot be purchased; a heart cannot be sold. The cost of making his affections known is too much to risk, and he could not bear to lose what closeness they share within the boundaries of friendship. It's not what he wants but it's the most he can have, and he will offer however much Red asks. Somewhere, though, in the back of his mind, Purple waits patiently counting pennies in a jar, praying one day he will earn enough to own Red's heart.


	26. Winter

**Winter**

They can sense in their bones the changing of seasons. They are sensitive to the faint traces of coldness slowly creeping into the atmosphere. There's a chill to the air growing just a little sharper each day. It's only now, with the bite of bitter winds that they realize they are clinging to what's left of Fall; the last two leaves hanging onto the tree refusing to sustain and nurture their basic needs.

He resigns himself to Winter's grasp, knowing that it's simply a matter of time before the season shifts and they both accept that the coldness between them has killed their connection. He is dreadfully awaiting the moment in which he will have to acknowledge this reality. He aches, anticipating the morning he will find his lover frozen to death beside him. Words covered in frost sting in his mind over and over as he anticipates the coming storm.

He hears himself think these thoughts as they silently prepare for bed under blankets that don't keep the chill from settling between them until Red's voice interrupts his internal musing.

"You've been quiet lately."

Purple feels for a moment as if it's been years since they've spoken, "I guess so. You've been pretty quiet, too."

Red sighs, addressing Purple with eye contact for the first time in what feels like forever, "…What are you thinking about?"

He bites his lip and holds back tears, praying the clouds hanging above them will not break into the blizzard he's seen on the horizon for so long now, "Nothing much. And you?"

Red sighs to himself with a smile, "That cabinet meeting with the Naghuril prime minister."

Purple flushed slightly.

Red's grin widened, "I thought so."

Purple had to laugh, "You had to call the whole thing off."

"You _did_ make it rather difficult to focus."

Purple sighed, "I guess I did."

"Remember how we used to ditch Math class and hide out under the bleachers?"

"We did _more_ than hide, Red."

"I had my first kiss there."

"I thought _I_ was your first kiss."

"You were." He says with a smile.

Purple feels the warmth in his cheeks, "…When did you know you loved me?"

The other Irken sighs, crossing the room and touching Purple's face gently, "I _always_ knew."

Purple takes a deep breath and nuzzles into Red's hand, "Me too."

"I know things between us haven't been what they were. I've been letting work get the best of me and I'm sorry I let it get between us."

"I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner."

Red kisses Purple's lips and they rediscover the warmth of each other's mouths. Purple feels heat rush through his body like a spark.

"I think we've got a lot of lost time to make up for." Red's voice is low and thick with desire, "I want you to know how much I've missed you."

Purple watches the storm blow over as the heat between them grows. Winter catches fire and they burn together until morning, when they awaken to the Spring.


	27. Voodoo

**Voodoo**

"So, what you're saying, Zim, is that whatever I do to the doll," Purple started, snatching Red's puppet off his partner's belt, "I make happen to Red?"

"Well, sort-of. This 'voodoo' that the humans practice, involves using the doll as some sort of connection to its likeness. I will try to harness the power of this 'voodoo' and use it against the Dib-Stink!"

"Yeah, Zim, that's great," Red replied, completely disinterested as he tried to grab his puppet back, "thanks for the update, we've got to go."

The transmission was cut and the screen went blank, Purple giggling as he continued to play 'keep away' with his partner's puppet. Red finally crossed his arms and gave Purple an angry glare.

"Give it back, Pur!"

"What, are you afraid I'll use it to put the _voodoo_ on you?" He laughed.

"No. It's _mine_ , and I want it back."

"You know, I think they might be on to something, those humans."

"What, you're saying that you believe in that nonsense?"

"I don't know, Red," he began with a smile, casually sauntering up to the other Irken, "I kinda _hope_ they're right." Purple brought the puppet to his lips, giving it a quick kiss before doing the same to his slightly stupefied partner. "Hm… maybe I _did_ put the voodoo on you."

"On second thought," Red replied, "maybe you should hang on to that puppet."


	28. Twisted

**Twisted**

He wakes up and stares across the distance between them. He's not sure what this thing between them is, this _almost-but-not-quite_ love affair, this pseudo-lover's tryst, that leaves them lying together the morning after, always close – but not _too close_. He does not know how close Red deems "close enough" but in Purple's mind, there is no such standard because "close" will _never_ be enough.

It started as a casual fling; a dare they took too far that took on a life of it's own and evolved into something they don't want to name, but don't want to stop. Purple wonders if Red is aware of the knots he's got Purple tangled up in. Every single word off his lips dissolves into syllables that stir up the memory of how his voice sounds in the throes of passion.

Red's intentions are a mystery to Purple entirely. He does not know how Red views their unspoken arrangement; only that he hasn't put an end to it yet. Purple is terrified that one day, Red will want to sit down and "talk to him about something" and explain that he's had enough. He imagines Red shoving him away. He lives in fear of the word, "no".

He knows it's pretty twisted, but he just wants to break Red down. He wants to wear away at him like erosion until he can't stand on his own, until he absolutely needs Purple to keep him steady. Thoughts like that scare him. It's unsettling to imagine Red as anything but independent. It hurts to think of him as weak or broken. It makes him sick to picture _himself_ as the catalyst for the process… but when he sees the other Irken laid out on the bed ready and waiting, beckoning Purple to take his place between Red's thighs, Purple doesn't care about how wrong it is.

* * *

**Random A/N:** my sister was listening to "MakeDamnSure" by Taking Back Sunday (which is quite psychologically disturbing, actually). I think I actually did a decent job at turning down the creeper-ness... and that should say something.


	29. Regret

**Regret**

He sat deep in thought as he stared out the one small window of his cell. The Ombudsman had come by earlier, accompanied by a Witness and two guards to offer him one last chance to issue a statement of regret as was standard protocol for Death-Row inmates on the eve of their execution.

" _All you have to do is admit to being under alien influence, Sir, and issue a formal apology to the Empire. It's not particularly dignifying, I know, but the alternative is eternal humiliation. You don't have the luxury of Deactivation; Irk wants to make_ sure _everyone remembers the penalty for this particular offense. You can spare your life and your dignity if you just listen to me."_

Everything had been a bit of a blur for Red since the true nature of his relationship with his co-leader had been spelled out in bold headlines across galaxies with undoctored images they could find no way to protest. What made this time different from any previous scandal was their administration launched a formal investigation – _without_ their knowledge. It was difficult to bug their rooms, but the Covert Ops team finally succeeded. They had even gone so far as to intercept their laundry on one occasion. With video, imaging, and DNA, there was enough evidence to force the Tallest to stand Trial.

They had been separated since the Trial started, only able to see each other while present at hearings. Red had been running on autopilot the whole time. Dissociated. Removed. He hardly slept or ate during his time in prison, and never once complained about the cramped space or quality of the little food he _did_ eat. He never countered any of the guard's slurs, had no reply to their jeers, and never resisted their random urges to beat the shit out of him. They had grown so frustrated at one point, a group of particularly angry guards nearly killed him. Red never said a word or made a noise that wasn't his body breaking. They had been reassigned, and after that, the guards grew rather afraid of him and very rarely acknowledged his existence.

Red hadn't been acknowledging his own existence. He had lost everything, so he really had _nothing_ to acknowledge. Nothing, until earlier that night when the Ombudsman offered him the chance to state his remorse in front of the official Witness. He sat there, extending to him one final opportunity to redeem himself.

Red had laughed.

Hard, at first and then calmed down a bit, before immediately bursting into another fit. The Ombudsman, to say the least, was _very_ cross.

" _It won't be so funny tomorrow when they unravel your atomic structure!"_

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"_ he had wiped at his eyes, taking some deep breaths in amusement, _"It's just… I'm so sorry for you. I am really, truly sorry."_

He stared at the former leader as if he were deranged, _"_ You're _the one too stubborn to save his own life._ You're _the idiot who went breaking our most sacred law in the first place."_

" _And you wanna know what the best part is?"_

" _I'd love to hear_ this _."_

" _Between us,_ I'm _the one who's gonna die without regrets."_ Red replied in an impassioned tone of voice and a fierce expression, _"What's_ your _life worth in the grand scheme of things? What do_ you _matter, what difference have you made to_ anyone _? Oh sure, you'll be recorded in history somewhere in the Population Archives as nothing but a birth and death and you will have never really_ lived _a moment of your stupid little life! You think you know so much about the value of a life – here you are, begging me to save myself, and look at you! You're_ pathetic _! Your rules and logic and beliefs and absolutes aren't worth my spit! You're_ empty! _So much, there is_ so much _you ignore, that you never see – never_ bother _to see – because you never look! You'll never notice how beautiful these walls are, or how that window splits the light at sunset; you'll never know how wonderful it is to feel pain and sadness and joy and love! I'm_ happy _!"_ He shouted, _"I miss Purple, I miss him more than you will_ ever _be able to imagine – my heart is broken so badly it hurts to_ breathe _sometimes, and you know what? I'm happy! I'm happy because I had something_ real _! I love this cell, I love that window, the sky, the guards who cracked my skull in three places! I love those things as much as I loved watching Purple laugh, holding him,_ touching _him… when I felt the spark between us, I felt like everything was new again. I've been wondering since this whole ordeal began, about what I should feel, but I'm_ not _confused anymore!"_

He felt as if he had finally woken up, as if the Ombudsman's words had recalled Red's mind back to his body and the former leader felt completely present in the moment. No longer was he the silent, withdrawn shell he had appeared for the past several months; there was something so much _more_ inside him, and it had always been there. The Ombudsman didn't seem to care, he seemed rather disgusted, actually, but Red never stopped smiling.

Red watched the sun setting in that particular way he liked through the window with the smile that hadn't faded still on his lips. He took in a deep breath and felt his heart swell with happiness; he thought of Purple and thought his chest might burst with love. He wondered how anyone could expect him to regret anything that could make him feel like this. He was glad that his name would haunt their history forever, and as he said goodnight to the sun for the last time, overwhelmed with joy, he could only hope that the crowds tomorrow would greet him with cries of hate.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing ended up being a hybrid homage to The Stranger by Albert Camus and the film American Beauty. I've never met a single person other than myself who liked that book. I always thought Meursault's ability to find beauty in the mundane was pretty deep.
> 
> An ombudsman is an official appointed to investigate individuals' complaints against maladministration, esp. that of public authorities. Really, I just liked the word.


	30. Smoke

**Smoke**

He's just like smoke. Shifty and illusive by nature, always disorienting and somewhat mischievous. It obscures so much, offering only the ghost of a suggestion in regard to what might lie beneath. Languid, fluid movements that flow effortlessly into one another; everything about his body is graceful. Red watches the smooth folds of Purple's robe caress his body as he moves, offering just the _slightest_ outline of what the garment obscures. He shouldn't steal glances out of the corner of his eye when Purple's attention is elsewhere. It's a dangerous game and one of these days, Red knows he's going to run out of excuses.

He knows that smoke kills long before the fire has a chance to spread.

The Irken's presence makes the air thick and heavy. Red struggles to breathe, feels his lungs heavy with ash. It fogs his judgment. Makes his head spin. His heart hurts as his arms hang at his sides uselessly.

You can't hold smoke.


	31. Snow

**Snow**

He thinks briefly of a useless Earth artifact called a "snow globe". Red has never seen snow, nor does he have a desire to. He never understood _what_ about the damn thing enchanted his co-leader so much. One single stupid moment fixed in time, immutable, while the music played on. Red wondered now what the figures inside the glass knew about time. He lifted it carefully into his hands, as if cradling an infant. Buried deep in the familiar folds of purple sheets, he delicately holds it to his chest as he curls into himself. Wet, glassy eyes study the glass world filled with water and he wonders how many tears the figure inside had to cry before it drowned. The answer doesn't matter.

He decides that he will be a snow globe, too.

Someday, he thinks to himself, the image of a smeet somewhere shaking up sparkles and snow, illuminating one single stupid moment where he and Purple are fixed, together, as a turn-key melody plays on.


	32. Start

**Start**

Purple laid a hand on top of his co-leader's as they stood together, leaning on the railing of the observation deck. The action was out of place in the current context, which prompted a confused glace from Red.

"I, uh… I thought we agreed we weren't gonna make it public."

Purple shrugged, his attention still fixed on the infinite void of sparking space in front of him, giving Red's hand a short squeeze. "I know."

"Is this some kind of weird way of telling me you've changed your mind?"

"No."

Red looked perplexed, "Why then? You know there's a picture of us like this _already_ in the process of becoming a headline."

"Eh. We'll have the Minister of Media throw the paparazzi out an airlock."

"Way to dodge the question."

"I'm quite flexible. _You'd_ know that better than _anyone_ , if I'm not mistaken."

Red grinned, "Yes, I'm fully aware of your impressive flexibility. Now tell me what's going on."

Purple sighed and gave a small, somewhat sad nostalgic smile as he finally trained his focus on the other Irken. "This is it, Red. This is where it starts."

"Where _what_ starts?"

"The end."

The red-eyed Irken looked at him in pure confusion. "…The end of what?"

He let out a long sigh, "Everything."


	33. Shadow

**Shadow**

Shadows on walls go unnoticed as they disappear into each other, abandoning the notion of the singular self. Pronouns like "I" and "me" are foreign on tongues that speak in touch. The shadow becomes the singular when they become possessive when they come together to cast the shadow. The shadow is the reflection of the soul on their bedroom wall.


	34. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be a fic of it's own someday. I've had the idea in the back of my mind for a while and never really did much with it until I got a full-blown plot going in my head last night. I liked the drabble, though, and there's nothing here that wouldn't be revealed in the first chapter (which probably won't be written for a while because I need to get the next chapter of No Return out ASAP). Enjoy!

**Remember**

Zim was having some sort of fit; going on and on about some person Purple had never met before. The chronic thorn in his side yammered frantically in the background, uninterrupted, for a few hours before the Tallest's anger could no longer be contained.

"I was curious to see when you'd shut up on your own, but it's been _three hours_ now, Zim. _THREE HOURS_!"

The non-Invader's eyes illuminated, "You _do_ remember! I knew you couldn't forget him!"

Purple cocked his head in curiosity, "Remember _who_ , Zim? _Who_ is this person I'm supposed to remember?"

"He was your Co-Leader, My Tallest!" Zim explained, "we all grew up together, and you both… you were in love with each other, and, and, the Empire found out and I tried to save you – I had a plan but it went wrong and I'm sorry, My Tallest, I'm so, so sorry, I failed you, please remember him, you _have to_ remember him, _please_!"

"You're giving me a headache. There's never been two Tallests at the same time. _Everyone_ knows that."

" _Please_ listen to me! People fall out of the world sometimes, but they always leave traces… half-eaten meals, luggage, photographs - and if you try hard enough, memory can bring them back, you can bring him back!" Half crying, "You can bring Red back!"

The name physically hurt to hear. Pain and fear morphed into anger, "Cut the connection. He's crazy."

"No, wait – My Tallest – _please_ ,"

The screen went blank.

Purple shook his head and sighed. "What an idiot."

"Sir… are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right, why wouldn't I be? You can get me some painkillers for my Zim-induced migraine but," he narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the soldier, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"N-nothing, My Tallest, it's just… well, why are you crying, Sir?"

Purple wiped at his eyes and found them wet. "I-I don't know…"

* * *

**Allusions & References**

**"I was curious to see when you'd shut up...** _ **THREE HOURS"**_ is from the IZ episode, " _Backseat Drivers from Beyond the Stars"._

Zim explaining **people fall out of the world sometimes ... memory can bring them back** is from the _Doctor Who_ episode, " _The Pandorica Opens"._

The exchange between the guard and Purple about **crying and not realizing it** is also from _Doctor Who_ , the episode _"Vincent and the Doctor"_ (which for some reason, _always_ makes me teary at the end)

**Notes**

Think of it as a pre-fic "trailer" of sorts. Or something. Much love to you wonderful readers and reviewers, you beautiful, wonderful people!


	35. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this one contains domestic violence. Inspired by "The Way You Lie" by Eminem and Rhianna

**Love**

Sometimes he blames it on the job they share. They're together because they _have to_ be, and for either one to back out now would cause more of a mess than it's worth and that's why they're still here. Why he begs Red to stay every time they fight, which is every day, from the moment his partner wakes up, disgusted with himself and heads for the door, like he's doing right now.

It doesn't explain why his chest caves in every time he hears the words _"I'm leaving you"_ or why his partner's insults still sting so painfully. He knows Red is all talk in the end, but Purple can't seem to control the panic and fury that chokes him in those moments – until he realizes _he's_ choking Red and his anger turns inward.

' _You swore you'd stop_ ' He reminds himself, when his train of thought is interrupted by Red slamming him into the wall, delivering a solid fist to the face it's well-acquainted with. On bad days, there's a knee to the stomach or repeated blows to his ribs before Red's kissing him, hard and bruising as Purple helps his partner wrap his legs around his waist, reversing their position so Red's back is against the wall for support.

Lips and fingertips have long since been replaced with teeth and claws, growling and snarling where they used to sigh and smile.

" _I hate you,"_ Red seethes, almost hissing, clenching his jaw.

Purple's acquired a taste for his partner's bitterness. In a perverse way, he's even grown to like it. _"I know."_ He replies with a grin he doesn't even know he's wearing, moving the way he knows will make Red's hips jerk.

Then there's that moment when Red unconsciously makes one of the gasping noises or happy sighs like he used to, Purple really smiles because he's done something to make his partner happy and for just a second, his mind flashes back to the way things were. He can hear Red in his mind, moaning and breathing hard, saying _'I love you, I love you, I love you_ ' over and over again.

" _I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you so much!"_

Purple buries his head in Red's shoulder, _"I'm sorry, Red. I'm sorry."_

" _It's too late for 'sorry' you stupid fuck!"_

The violet-eyed Irken starts to cry as Red demands him to thrust harder and faster. _"I'm so sorry, Red…"_

" _Say it again!"_

" _I'm sorry..."_

" _Again!"_

Purple sobs until Red's hand grips his antennas _hard_ and yanks his head back, forcefully cupping the violet-eyed Irken's chin with the other.

" _Look me in the eyes and say it. Look at me, and then tell me you're sorry!"_

" _I'm sorry, Red, I'm so, so sorry… never again, I promise. I love you, I really do, and I'll change. I'm just so scared of losing you. I'll do anything, I want to deserve you…"_ It's a lie, and they both know it.

" _Oh, Pur… just look at us. We_ already _deserve each other."_


	36. Quiet

**Quiet**

They practice perfection through silence. In all things unspoken there's an understanding they acknowledge. Articulation is unnecessary. Words are just the product of colliding syllables invented to quantify what mathematics cannot measure. Even the language of logic fails and falls into Cartesian circles, which aren't right _either_ ; you cannot prove the existence of something simply by assuming that it exists. Complex proofs and "if P, then Q" puzzles reach conclusions neither valid nor sound. Equations can't make sense of it.

Sometimes, when it's quiet and Purple looks into Reds eyes, he _swears_ he sees his soul.

 

 


	37. Glimmer

**Glimmer**

Maybe there's some truth to the simile that memories are like precious stones. Maybe the ones that shine the brightest always shimmer because our minds keep them polished. Maybe the truth is what scares us. Perhaps it's better to allow ourselves to be deceived by the glow of light cutting through 25-cent-machine gems.

But that light's gone dead now and Purple is out of replacement bulbs. The shiny, colored plastic is melting in his mind and he's seeing his collection of rocks for what they are and asks himself,

"What the fuck was I thinking?"

At the time, what they shared hadn't seemed like much and when things between them started to get complicated, he'd found an excuse to leave. He thought he had a proper view of things back then but even in hindsight, it's never a question of how precise one's vision is; it's got just as much to do with conditions of the road.

Again, he asked himself almost desperately, "What the fuck was I thinking?"

These memories had no glimmer about them. They were solid and gritty and _real_ and fucking hell, did some of them hurt, but they were beautiful in their own way. The life he'd given up was banal and mundane and incredible in a way he'd never really considered until now.

Fuck the glimmer. He'd traded a rock for a diamond only find he'd been given a rhinestone for a ruby.

* * *

**A/N** : based on the Salvador Dali quote about false memories.


	38. Blood

**Blood**

His eyelids opened slowly, as if anchors had been sealing them shut, his vision was hazy at best and he fought a sudden wave of nausea. Moaning at the unpleasant sensation, he put a hand to his spinning head and struggled for the clarity that seemed just out of his reach. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he blinked his eyes several times and the fog began to lift.

Panic seized him immediately, followed quickly by a much stronger bout of nausea.

_Oh god, oh god, oh godohgodohgod…_ was all he could think as his chest heaved and he struggled to stand on legs too weak with shock to support his weight. Scrambling for purchase, he clutched at the wall and found the attempt unsuccessful; all he accomplished was collapsing against it and dropping to the ground again. Still, he persisted, failed attempt after failed attempt, breathing shallow and frantic.

_There's so much blood…_ he thought idly at the mangled heaps of flesh and mutilated tissue littering the floor, _you can't even tell what they were anymore_. Furniture was destroyed, splintered, just piles of scrap. The walls and ceiling were even marred with scratches, dents, and blood spatter. _Must've been quite tricky to hit a ceiling that high…_ Red mused idly, unable to process any of what he was seeing as his legs finally kept him upright, _what the_ fuck _happened here_?

He didn't recall any specifics but there were fragments of memory, showers of buckshot that exploded in his mind and suddenly, he knew why his heart was racing.

Red bolted through the hallway, examining room after room, greeted with the same horrific scenes.

_Please please please oh god please be ok, please please pleaseplease_ , like a manta over and over until he finally came upon a trembling figure, curled into himself in the furthest, darkest corner.

"Pur…" He managed, "what – what happened?"

The Irken flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, "…Couldn't let them hurt you." His voice shook as badly as his body, on the verge of tears, "I don't… I don't, I – I don't," he whimpered, "I, I,"

"Shhh," Red tried, wincing just a little "it's over." He sat beside the other Irken, "You can put that down now." Gesturing toward the bloodstained knife the other clutched in his grip, feeling more than small sick sort of dread creeping over him.

Purple looked at the object in his hand as if seeing it for the first time, "Oh," his expression morphed into terror and confusion, "oh!" Dropping the object like it was on fire, "Oh! Oh no… oh no… I – I… I didn't mean it! I didn't! They, they, they said they found you, told me they were gonna hurt you, hurt you just like they hurt me, _worse_ than they hurt me I didn't know, don't know how it happened, I can't remember, why can't I oh _god_ I don't remember what I did!" He grabbed his head and sobbed, "I couldn't, couldn't, couldn't let them hurt you."

Encircling the other with his arms and pulling him close, ignoring the sickening scent of death Purple was covered in, he nuzzled into the nape of Purple's neck, crying softly, "What have they done to you, Pur?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will also (more than likely) be a multi-chapter fic of it's own someday.


	39. Why

**Why**

_Why?_

It's the question constantly written in Purple's eyes underneath every glance. Somewhere, beneath every emotion he uses to mask it, Red can feel one word resonating in his mind in a soft, pleading tone and he just looks away. He doesn't have to see it to recognize the brief second of disappointment that crosses Purple's face as his façade falls out of place. Red's answer is always the same three words but never what he knows Purple wants to hear:

_I don't know_

They've had the conversation out loud a few times, and by now the one thing they _do_ know is that it always ends the same. Perpetually trapped in-between; they will never make the leap to "lovers" but they have stepped well beyond the boundary of "friends". Even the dreaded phrase, "friends with benefits" is not applicable. The whole screwed-up scenario eats at them both a little more each time, and Red's got no one but himself to blame.

Oh, he could blame the party they'd been at; the loud music or the strobe lights and lasers, the smoke machines or the confetti and glitter that rained from the ceiling, or the way it all struck Purple just right when he caught his friend's eyes from across the room because he'd let Red go to the bar alone to buy himself a drink. He could blame the single sip of the beverage he abandoned not a full minute after purchasing it.

He could blame Purple for suggesting that they go in the first place, for not breaking eye contact, for standing there, covered in shimmer and radiant glow. He could blame him for not backing up or pushing him away, for kissing back with equal intensity, for wrapping his arms around Red and holding him just as close as he held Purple; for parting his lips, meeting his tongue, moaning into his mouth, for tasting so _right_ , for being so god damned _perfect_.

He wanted to blame Purple for letting Red back him against the wall of the building when they'd dragged each other out back, for biting his bottom lip the way he did, for groaning his name in that voice, arching into the touch when Red moved a hand between his legs.

For that ragged, shallow breathing and the soft mantra of _"please, please, please, please"_ so quiet Red could hardly hear it at first, for making Red want to turn the volume up until Purple screamed so loud the whole universe would have no question.

For sinking his teeth into Red's neck, encouraging him in all the right ways to keep doing the wrong thing. For allowing Red to unfasten his pants and touch where the Irken had never been touched before and the confused, needy, half-lidded expression and soft flow of vowels Purple spilled from his throat.

For burying his head in Red's neck, nails digging into his shoulders with a shaking vice-like grip, for the constant string of _"please, please, please, please"_ as if it was the only word in his vocabulary. For the way he whimpered it so desperately, interjecting a new word as he got closer, " _now… please, please, now, now, please, now…"_

For making Red forget who he was and where they were and what they were doing and that dreaded question he couldn't answer, for finally crying out Red's name until he couldn't breathe.

For that dazed, satiated look in his eyes and that warm, loving smile. For the innocent blush on his face after he followed Red's eyes to look down at the mess in Red's hand and the shy, _"…Sorry."_ he offered. For the light kiss on Red's cheek, _"Do you, um - I could_ … _if you want, I could do it for you"_.

For not waiting for Red to come back down to reality before Purple fixed himself and kissed Red's neck. For the bite that made Red brace himself against the wall, for asking if it was okay, for the hand that returned the favor with affection compensating for experience, but it was his first so by default, it was the best he'd ever had. For holding him afterward while he caught his breath before the confusion and panic set in. For not hating him when it did.

" _Was… was that okay? I, um, I-I haven't done that before – you know,_ with _anyone, so I hope it wasn't… what's wrong? It was bad, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I just wanted to make you feel good and you didn't pull away from me when I asked if it was okay, and I thought – fuck, I'm sorry,"_

" _Pur,"_ he interjected firmly, _"it wasn't bad."_

Purple smiled, relief flooded his voice, _"Oh, okay. Good, then."_

There was an awkward silence Purple didn't understand.

" _Hey, Red,"_ he started, _"why'd you want to, you know, do that?"_

Red's brain was having a hard time processing _what_ they'd done in the first place; he hadn't _started_ thinking about _why_ he'd done it.

"… _I don't know."_

Purple looked disappointed. _"Oh."_

" _What?"_

" _No, nothing."_ His expression said otherwise, _"It's just… well…"_

" _Well, what?"_

He sighed, _"Well, you don't exactly decide one day you're gonna do that stuff with your best friend for no reason."_

" _Says who?"_ He shrugged.

" _Come on, Red. You're not like that."_

" _What's your answer?"_

" _You mean why did I do it?"_

Red nodded.

" _I've always wanted to."_

Red did not want Purple to elaborate further. He wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened. Something in his brain wouldn't let it go and it refused to let him sleep. Red tossed and turned and did nothing but dream of Purple in various unsavory situations for the better part of three weeks, until he could no longer stand it. A combination of sleep deprivation, insomnia, desperation, and arousal led him to Purple's door in the single-digit hours of the morning. Purple answered the door half asleep and woke up in a second as his friend crushed their mouths together. Red's urgency had been so great Purple had nearly forgotten to close the door behind them.

Purple had asked again the next day:

_Why?_

" _It's not like we did anything we haven't done before."_

Purple frowned, but he accepted Red's answer. At first, it was only once or twice a week, some kissing and touching and falling asleep. Then, Red's hand slid down Purple's bare chest and things progressed as they had the night the whole thing started.

Purple asked him again the next morning:

_Why?_

Again, Red shrugged:

_I don't know._

As much as Red was disturbed by the fact he let it happen again, he found his nights alone instantly grew unbearable. One or two nights a week with Purple turned into a minimum of three, until the night Red had been kissing his way down Purple's chest and didn't stop. Purple had asked him if he was sure he wanted to do it; he didn't _have to_ , it hadn't even been Purple's idea. Red's response was a kiss to a place lips had never touched before. Purple hadn't been hesitant about returning the favor.

The next morning, Red tried to avoid the topic by racing out the door, but Purple had cleverly taken his pants hostage. He forced him to maintain eye contact as the question came again:

_Why?_

A shrug with downcast eyes,

_I don't know._

" _Oh, come off it, Red, we've been sleeping together for_ months _."_

No answer. Typical. He sighed, _"What about you?"_

Simple, effortless, _"I wanted to."_

" _Oh."_

_A sigh, "Look, I don't care what your reason is… I just don't want you to leave."_

" _We're just friends, Pur. Don't make it a big deal."_

Purple gave a somewhat disappointed glance, " _What I means is, are we okay?"_

" _Yeah. Why wouldn't we be?"_

He let out a frustrated grunt and got to his feet, fighting the urge to spit back something along the lines of, "Oh, I don't know, maybe it has something to do with where you put your mouth last night" but bit his tongue before he said something he'd regret. _"Nothing, Red."_ And for better or worse, he tacked on, _"I had a good time, you know, if it means anything."_

Maybe it had something to do with the morning. Red was always fine before and during but the morning after he was stoic and reserved. He held Purple when they fell asleep and was awake and out the door by the time the other woke up. Purple didn't understand,

_Why?_

Always,

_I don't know._

" _Are you ashamed of me?"_

" _Of course not! You're my best friend!"_

" _Just_ tell me _what you need, Red!"_ Softly, _"What do you need me to be?"_

" _Nothing!"_

" _I'm_ already _nothing, Red."_

When Purple asked him later that night why Red had taken Purple's face in his hands and kissed him, his response would be the same as it always was.

_I don't know_.

" _Guess I won't bother asking why you fucked me."_

Red didn't know why, but he wrapped his arms around the other Irken and pulled him close.

" _I guess it's as good an answer as any."_

" _What about you?"_

Simple, easy, effortless as always, _"I love you."_

" _Oh."_

" _At least you're reliable."_ The resignation in his voice was not hard to mistake.

Purple never asked him again. Not out loud, at least. They sleep together every night. Purple always says, _"I love you"_ and Red never says anything. Every night is another skip of the clichéd broken record of their lives. Red's moment of silence is the scratch. Purple doesn't care about how the song ends, he just wants to hear it through. He's all right with skips and stumbles; nothing is perfect on the first try. If he didn't love this goddamned record so much he'd have taken a hammer to it a long time ago. Each night, that empty, frozen moment of No-Time strikes him like a slap in the face, even though he knows Red doesn't mean it like that. Maybe he's afraid. Maybe he's just not ready. Purple doesn't need to hear _"I love you"_ , though it would be nice. He just needs an answer to that endless, nagging question that's tortured him since the first time they touched. It doesn't have to be a _good_ answer. At this point, _"Because"_ is enough.

Almost as if he hears Purple's thoughts, Red poses the question to himself. He can't think of an answer. _"Because"_ hardly seems fitting. He doesn't know what makes him need Purple but he knows he can't leave him. He's tried. It doesn't last more than two days at best because his heart can't take it. He thinks back through everything, looking for a common denominator and the only similarity is Purple's tone of voice.

_I've always wanted to._

_I wanted to._

_I love you._

In math, it would look like the transitive property of multiplication:

_x= I've always wanted to = I wanted to = I love you_

_x_ = _I love you_

Maybe if he can understand Purple's equation, he can solve for _why_.

_IF Red = Purple_

_AND why = x_

_SO I've always wanted to = I wanted to = I love you_

_WHERE x = I love you_

_AND x = why_

_THEN why = I love you_

Solve for Red using substitution:

_Red = Purple_

_Red = x/I love you_

_Red = I love you/I love you_

_Reduce to simplest form,_

_Red = I love you_

_Why = Red = Purple = I love you_

Fuck. It takes half-assed logic and the intervention of arithmetic for him to figure out what the words Purple says to him every night actually mean.

"Hey, Pur,"

The exhausted-eyed Irken rolls onto his back to look at the other.

"I love you."

Purple smiles like Red hasn't seen in a long time, and they hold each other close. The track plays seamlessly through as Purple runs his fingers along every inch of his favorite record, appreciating every new sound it makes.

* * *

**A/N:** This was not supposed to be five pages. Like _Crash_ , this probably should be a standalone, but eh.

**No-Time** is from Robert Penn Warren's poem, _"There's A Grandfather Clock in the Hall"_ (which is just beautiful and sad and really has nothing to do with this fic, but it's still amazing)


	40. Music

**Music**

There is a dance floor in his brain. His synapses spark like strobe lights; each chemical is it's own furious fluorescent shade, set to the pulse pounding in his ears. He sings out strings of notes; the lyrics are repetitive but they're in perfect time with the rhythm and his heart beats in synchrony with the bass line.

Nimble fingers play every string in _every_ fret, tweaking tuning pegs until the sound is flawless, until the percussion is in his blood and symbols are crashing in his head. Until he's shaking like the skin of a snare drum, shuddering like a tuning fork. The ride is rolling over and over and over and _over_ until he breaks the tempo and time signature and this is the stretto – every note is sharp and staccato in anticipation of the crescendo.

_This_ is _real_ trance music.

This symphony feels like the "1812 Overture" and Tchaikovsky is firing cannons in his head as he cries out and clings to his partner as the tuning fork strikes the ride and the crash simultaneously - and everything resonates in perfect sync. The thick-coiled E-string on the bass is pulled tighter and tighter until it snaps from the tension. Red holds that final, high-pitched whole note for two measures, ad-libbing incoherently as the distortion reverberates through his body.

Once his partner has finished their duet, Red listens to the lullaby of Purple's respiration and thinks no matter how much he loves the intensity of their improv sessions, his partner's breathing will always be his favorite song.

* * *

**Notes**

In percussion, the **crash** and the **ride** are both cymbals.

In a fugue composition, the **stretto** is the section where the voices reply and begin to build on each other, anticipating the crescendo. Bach wrote a ton of fugues.

The original arrangement of **Tchaikovsky's** _ **"1812 Overture"** _ literally featured cannons. I can't understand why I'm so amused by this.


	41. Grow

**Grow**

When you're a kid, you laugh between 400 and 600 times a day. The figure for adults, on average, is less than 20. No one really could explain why; it was just something that happened. One of those universal truths best explained by a film that defined a generation on an insignificant little blue planet spinning silently out in what was the deep and (mostly) unexplored territories beyond known space, _"When you grow up, your heart dies"_.

Work, responsibilities, relationships, the realization that you're shopping in the 'adult' section of department stores and wearing loafers or worse yet, sensible heels; these were the common arguments made for the lack of laughter in the adult life. No one really knew _how_ it happened; only that you never realized until it was too late.

"Promise me we'll never grow up."

"We have to, someday."

Angry and frustrated that his friend failed to understand the implications of what he meant, he crossed his arms and pouted, "I don't wanna."

"Growing up doesn't mean you have to forget who you are. You don't have to stop laughing. Not if you do it right."

"What if I get it wrong?"

"You won't, Pur."

"How do you know that?"

"'Cause you'll have me to remind you, incase you forget."

* * *

The **laughing** figures are from a very depressing snapple fact I once got.

**"When you grow up, your heart dies"** is from _The Breakfast Club_


	42. Kiss

**Kiss**

His breath hitches and for half a second when he trades inhibition for impulse and acts on instinct instead.

Hesitation and a half-finished hug leaves them too close to call the night over but too distant to seal it with a kiss. Purple can see the conflict playing across Red's face but it's the disappointment in his eyes that he recognizes, and maybe… maybe Red's just as clueless in all this as he is.

His breath hitches for half a second when he realizes that all he knows for certain is that he wants this.

There's no apprehension when he trades inhibition for impulse and thinks to himself, _'fine, if you can't, I'll do it,'_ and closes the distance between them.

It's not his first kiss, but it _is_ the first one that's ever been _his_.


	43. Lose

**Lose**

Losing came so naturally, he wondered why it had taken him so long to notice. He'd always been a little thick, he supposed; never one to bother with details, which was probably the reason he'd only achieved a status of mediocrity among his peers.

Losing, though, was something in which Purple unquestionably deserved first place. Purple never really understood just how emptyhe was until he'd lost the one thing he meant to keep.

"It'll be all right," he told himself. "It's not such a disaster."

This sort of thing happened all the time.

It'll be all right. It's not such a disaster.

_papers, photographs, promises_

(this) sort of thing happened all the (time)

_dreams, keys, memories_

(it's not) such a disaster

_homes, hearts, hopes_

it would be (all right)

_lovers_

this sort of thing happened all the time

_Red_

it's not such a disaster

_Red_

not such a disaster

_Red_

such a disaster

such a disaster.

Purple may have perfected the art of losing but lying, however, was never his strong suit.

* * *

This is heavily inspired by Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art", particularly the use of repetition and other sentiments echoed in the poem, which is far more complex than this little ditty could ever hope to be. Also, if you read the parenthetical in sequence, it says: "this time it's not all right". Trying to depict denial in words and structure is quite difficult.


	44. Fire

**Fire**

Red is losing his hands to the waist in his grip as its owner moves to the demands of the music. He is holding the hips of a dance floor demon who twists like he was _made_ for this – it starts a fire in Red's brain – he can almost _taste_ the lick of flames. Ensnared by smoldering violet eyes, each slick electric lick of a six-stringed instrument leaves them at the mercy of the music's thunder-clap heavy bass, frantic hearts like cymbals crash; melting in each other's hands, each touch molding the moment into _something_ more than just a dance.


	45. Beautiful

**Beautiful**

The air is scalding and it hurts to breathe; the smoke so thick it nearly swallows him whole. His lungs are heavy and the heat stings his eyes, fixated on the furious spires. The panic he felt only a moment ago is gone.

He'd rather _not_ , but he knows that everything has its time and everything dies and as he takes a long look at the person beside him, he concludes that if this is his time, he's all right with that.

" _What's wrong with you? Why are you smiling? We're going to_ die _!"_ The other shouts, gripping his shoulders in a frantic desperation.

" _I think I'm a little bit in love with you."_

He stares in complete shock, _"What?"_

" _I love you. In every way I'm not supposed to."_ A simple explanation, as if he were explaining to a child the color of the sky or what happens to the refrigerator light when the door closes.

The other struggled for words, frustrated when he came up empty. His grip became tighter without his knowledge and he struggled against glassy eyes that threatened to betray him.

"… _Why the fuck didn't you say something?"_ He chokes.

" _The same reason you didn't. I was scared. I would rather have been your friend than have risked being nothing at all. It made sense at the time; hardly seems like the right choice, given the way things worked out."_ He replied with a hand softly stroking the other Irken's cheek.

Red's grip had become more of an embrace by now, _"We would have been beautiful."_

Purple brought his arms around the other and pulled him close for a long moment. He felt dizzy for a and knew the oxygen-rich atmosphere was burning too quickly for their Paks to even hope to convert enough of it too do them any good. _"We were_ always _beautiful, Red."_


	46. Before

**Before**

Before it was language, it was a thought. The cognitive process of articulating the abstract; nouns and verbs mingled with adjectives as his mind carefully chewed each word until the conjunctions came and formed the coherent realization he nearly choked on.

Before it was a thought, it was an idea. A notion, the hazard of _maybe,_ the fulcrum perfectly balanced – the point on which everything rested. Balance. Control. The calm before the storm.

Before the idea, it was a suggestion.

Before that, just a hint. A hint that originated as an inkling derived from an urge born of a tendency rooted in want, laced with desire that began in love and ended in an Irken with violet eyes.

Red looks at Purple and the words melt on his tongue like cotton candy; sweet, sickening, and when he opens his mouth, there's nothing to spit out.

* * *


	47. Defect

**Defect**

The word burned at the back of Purple's mind, each syllable a splinter lodged in his consciousness. It was easy enough to silence the taunts of his peers with a fist, but there was no swift remedy for the persistent echoing of his own thoughts. He clenched his head in his hands and sighed desperately, exhausted eyelids falling half shut over sunken, weary eyes.

It's been days since he last slept.

He's terrified of what his unconscious might conjure without his rational mind to censor it. Concepts that slowly graduated from "questionable" to "mildly inappropriate" had finally arrived at "unforgivable." Tangles of frantic, sweat-slick limbs, hot mouths, hips… and between the moans he keeps hearing in his head, the same word repeats over and over:

_Defect._

_Defect._

_Defect._


End file.
